The Wrong Business
by atl-criminal33
Summary: She was a spy, but she was a soldier. She was a women, but she was a tool. Lastly Natasha Romanoff was heaven and hell combined into one, fighting a war that no one can win; a war against herself. (A series of oneshots set after Cap 2)
1. Chapter 1

**The Wrong Business**

* * *

She was a spy, but she was a soldier. She was a women, but she was a tool. Lastly Natasha Romanoff was heaven and hell combined into one, fighting a war that no one can win; a war against herself.

Ever since she kissed Steve on the cheek, and handed him that file her life's been a wreck. The gunshot wound on her shoulder was still tender as she told Steve to call Sharon because honestly she wasn't sure if she would ever see him again, and though she hated to admit it, that very thought pained her to no end. Fury was alive and off to Europe, Maria would be working for Stark, at least until she tried to kill him, and Steve had Sam to help him find his former best friend. They would all be fine without her, and she didn't know if that made her feel grateful or like she was slowly disappearing despite all her covers being thrown out into the open.

In the beginning of her "vacation" things were going okay. She visited a small village in South America for some peace, went to a remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean to relax, though she didn't wear a bikini while tanning on the beach, and she even went to Russia to hopefully come to terms with her past that she tried so hard to run from. Sure it was hard at first to watch all these normal people living without the worry that someone would recognize them and try to kill them, and it was even harder to pretend to act like one, but she spent her whole life learning to adapt, being trained to blend in with the crowd, so this was nothing new. Though there was this pain in her gut telling her that all this new anxiety wasn't because she had to act like she was normal, but because she wished she was one.

It all started when she was at a bar somewhere in Europe. Someone bought her a drink, so Natasha accepted it, but not before secretly making sure it wasn't spiked or drugged or poisoned. Accepting a drink was fine, it was nothing really, but when the man that bought it for her put his hand around her waist and asked her out, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from kicking him in the balls. She declined politely saying that she was already in a relationship, but the man wouldn't take no for an answer. Natasha spent the rest of her night changing all her fake ID's and burning all the evidence that she was ever there. She pretended not to care about her split lip or the blood or her shirt from the bloody nose she gave that man. She ignored the slight shake in her hands as she zipped her suitcase, and she tried so hard not to think about all the things that could have went wrong if she wasn't a trained assassin. She failed.

* * *

About a month later she was staying at this hotel in Northern Mexico when someone recognized her. She had no idea who he was, though she wasn't surprised because all her past memories of the true horrors of the Red Room were probably all brainwashed out of her. He wasn't a very large man, but he had a grin that sent unwanted chills through her body, and eyes that reminded her of a pool during winter: cold and empty. Natasha tried to make her way back to her hotel room to gather up all her belongings and make her escape, but she was already made, and he knew that's she knew too. She made her way to the alley outside of the hotel so that if things did go south she wouldn't go to prison.

She could feel warm breath on the back of her neck as the man whispered "It's been too long Natalie."

He stabbed her in the leg, she punched him in the gut. He put his filthy hands around her neck and just as her vision was beginning to go fuzzy, she hit him over the head with the butt of her gun. Natasha aimed it at his head, while he kneeled in front of her looking too happy for a man that was about to die.

"I hear you've been working for Hydra all these years, Natalie," he said in a devilish voice.

"That's not true," she said gripping the gun tighter. "I was doing good."

"No Natalie, you were only doing the dirty work like you always have been. Nothing has changed, you are no better than me. At least I know what I am fighting for," he said and she snapped.

One bullet, two bullets, eight bullets, she fired until her gun ran out.

Later that night when she woke up in a cold sweat despite the unbearable heat, and ran to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach, she blamed it on the spicy Mexican food she ate for dinner, though she knew that would be a lie. She turned on the dim lights and looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. She could see bruises that looked like fingers beginning to form around her neck and the stab wound on her leg only a faint reminder of who she was.

Natasha thought of Steve and what a great person he was. He saved her worthless life, and she owed him so much more. She hadn't talked to him since she saw him in the graveyard months before, and she wondered if he changed at all. If he changed his hair, or grew a beard or found his place in the world yet. She remembered their conversation in the 'borrowed' car as they made their way to New Jersey, and how she said she didn't trust anyone, and he said that that was a hard way to live, but she said it was a good way to stay alive. It wasn't till now that she realized she was wrong. It wasn't a good way to stay alive – it was only a good way to stay broken.

She looked into the mirror one last time and remembered how much she hated Mexico.

* * *

It had been nine months since she last saw Steve, since she last was clearing her ledger only to find out that she was really pouring more red into it, since she last smiled and didn't think about the consequences. That feeling of maybe being just a fraction of a hero, like the way she felt in the battle of New York felt so far away.

She was no longer on vacation, she was on the run, but her life was now in slow motion. Every time someone stared at her for just a little more than the acceptable amount she had to get a new cover. Every time she saw someone from her past she had to kill them to stay alive. Natasha wanted nothing more then that sense of security, but it seemed that any sense of normality had washed away with the lies. She felt naive for believing that maybe she had a chance to find herself only to discover that she will never change, and that she was still that little lost girl with nowhere to run.

She was hiding out in Brazil after having to kill one of the men that trained her only a day earlier. Two of her ribs were broken and she had a deep burn on her left arm, but she hadn't felt pain in a while. She had gone numb. There was a knock on the door of the cheep apartment she was renting out until she recovered. Natasha grabbed her gun – that now becoming a routine of hers, and she aimed it at the door.

"Nat it's me, Steve." Said the almost unrecognizable voice.

She half walked, half limped to the door, only opening it slightly so that he couldn't see the condition she was in.

"How did you find me?" she asked as she scanned his face for any sign that this was all a dream, or some sick trap.

"It's pretty easy to find someone who leaves a trail of bodies behind them," he said with a slight grin.

"You have any luck finding Barnes?" she asked.

"We're getting there. You have any luck finding yourself?" he said back with a raised eyebrow.

"I've reached a few dead ends but – but I'm getting there."

"Well slow and steady wins the race, you know?" he said.

"I didn't think that sayings been around that long," she said teasingly.

"Very funny," he said. "You take care of yourself, and just know I could always use an extra hand if you get bored doing whatever you seem to be doing here."

"You're in the wrong business if you don't want to get bored Rogers," Natasha said with a laugh.

Steve smiled and as he started to walk away Natasha said "You find anyone special yet?"

"Not yet. She's a little too busy setting me up on dates and kicking ass to realize it yet, but she's smart, and I have good patience," Steve said smiling.

"I hear seventy years of sleep will do that to you," Natasha responded.

"I still know how to text, and it'd be nice to hear from you a little more than every nine months just to make sure you're still alive."

"Trust me, I'm not ready to go down just yet."

"You're in the wrong business if you trust anyone Romanoff."

"Shut up and walk away before I make you feel as old as you are," she said with a slight chuckle.

"I wouldn't let anyone else do the honors," he said, and Natasha had a slight feeling that he was right.

She went to bed that night realizing that even though no one wins in war it's a lot easier to stay alive when you're not alone, and maybe just maybe with the expanding feeling in her chest, she wasn't alone any more either, and that might be the only thing in her life that she was thankful for right now, and that was the truth.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. This movie is my life. Feel free to request any romanoger fics or simply Black Widow ones and I'd be happy to do them:)**


	2. Salt & Gold

**Salt & Gold**

* * *

It had been a long week. Natasha Romanoff started off in some deserted town in the middle of Africa, and was now in Zimbabwe. The culture in Africa was unique and she appreciated that, but being so close to the desert, but still so far away from the tropical jungle made her feel like shit, and if another camel spit on her someone was going to lose a pet tonight.

She was a spy, it was only natural for her to be in control, to crave that feeling of holding the power, but it was really hard to do that when you've been on the run for eleven months. Natasha was beginning to remember how she felt before Clint took her in, or in other words, before she started working for Hydra. She almost wanted to laugh at the complete and utter bullshit that her life turned into. How many people who try to start doing good with themselves actually end up working for some corrupt-worse than Nazi-terror group of the century? She didn't know, but she knew for sure that the number wasn't too high, and she was probably on the top of the list.

Some people say that the past helps you learn from your mistakes, but they forgot to mention that it's hard to learn when you never stopped making them all along.

The air was humid, and if Natasha wasn't trained in keeping her cool she would probably be sweating right now. She was sitting at a bar counter, slightly amused at the looks she was getting from natives as she kept downing shot after shot of some homeland vodka. It was nothing compared to Russian alcohol, but nothing ever was. The acidic taste still burned her throat each time she swallowed, and it left her lips feeling dry and parched, but it still wasn't enough to make her drunk. She almost wanted to damn the Red Room for drilling into her head to always be on high alert because it really sucked the fun out of trying to get wasted beyond comprehension.

Normally Natasha would cope with punching, or shooting something, but not today. Only a few hours earlier she had ran into another girl that she had meant at the Red Room, except unlike her this girl didn't get an out. Natasha was walking down the crowded street when she saw the girl's dark brown eyes. She remembered her name was Ana, but more importantly she remembered killing her sister one of her first weeks of training. She snapped the girl's neck like it was second nature back before her legs were barely long enough to touch the ground while sitting. She was praised by the other workers, and she hated herself for being proud. Natasha remembered seeing Ana after her kill and she never forgot the look of pure betrayal in her eyes. That was the last time she ever saw her, and for so long she thought she was dead – no she hoped she was dead, so that she wouldn't have to live with all the pain, but here she was looking into her eyes like the last time she saw her, except this time only one of them would walk away.

Now here she was drinking shots at some bar in Zimbabwe hoping to erase the memories, and erase her ledger, and erase the invisible shadow of blood that laced her skin. It was easy to kill the people that created her, the people that killed her childhood and those that made her into the cold blooded assassin that she believed to be, but it was nothing compared to killing those that trained with her, those that endured the same pain that she woke up screaming from. But it was her life or there's, and in this line of work she learned that she would always be the favored student, the valedictorian of Red Room protégés, and it's hard to lose a game that you were forced to play.

Natasha chugged another shot, though it did no good, but it didn't do any worse so why the hell not?

"Damn, you really are Russian," said the not so familiar voice of Sam Wilson.

"That's what I've been told," she said back, not bothering to turn around.

She didn't look up until she felt someone sit down next to her, and was meant with none other than Steve Rogers.

"It's been awhile," he said while ordering a water from the bar.

"What do you want?" Natasha slurred.

"I want you to stop drinking all that crap because it won't do any good," said Steve taking the shot glass out of her hand.

"Well apparently neither can I," she stated coldly.

"That's not true and you know it," he said.

"You're a bad liar Rogers," she said with a small grin.

"No I'm not, you're just bad at taking compliments," Steve said back.

"What are you really doing here?"

"We need your help," said Sam. "Barnes is always one step ahead of us, so we though 'why not ask the girl who's always hiding for help?'"

"You in?" asked Steve.

Deep down she wished that they wanted her for more than just her skill, but she put that feeling aside because wanting things that you didn't deserve got you killed.

Natasha bit her lip and said "Okay, but only because I was taught that it was rude not to help a senior citizen, and it looks like you two dumbasses need help crossing the street."

"God, I thought you were lying about the whole Russian thing, but I see it now," stated Sam with a small chuckle.

When Natasha got up from her seat she pretended not to notice the look on Steve's face. It was of hope, and she had a bad track record of letting people down, and maybe for once in her life she was hoping that this would end differently. The only problem was that she didn't think James wanted to be found.

Steve held the door open for her as she walked out and she said "I missed you too, Rogers," and secretly that was the truth.

* * *

**I got the idea for this from the Africa unit in my AP history class. This one was quite angsty but it will pave the way for future fics.**

**Thanks for reading and review!**


	3. Both Sides Covered

**Both Sides Covered**

* * *

The words that Pierce had said to her played in her head at night, like a scratched disk.

_Are you ready for the world to see you as you really are?_

She remembered hesitating after he said that. She wasn't ready. Natasha Romanoff was a women drawn with an erasable pen, so that it would be easy for her to disappear, though still leaving some marks behind. She lived off of shadows, and breathed different covers. Her secrets had secrets that she didn't even have the answers to. How could she expect the innocent, and naive world to see her, when she couldn't even see herself, when she didn't even know where to start looking for the broken pieces of her mind. So was she ready? No, not at all, but she sure as hell wasn't ready to watch the world go up in flames, because she put herself ahead of other people.

Her life was about taking risks, about being comfortable feeling uncomfortable, but the disguise that she had plastered on her face long ago, was becoming worn, and stiff. Yes she had done bad things in her past, but she was trying to rid them of their red. Andrew Peirce on the other hand was the definition of red. She had her past regrets to lose, but he had Hydra's future on the line, and somehow that settled the nauseous in her gut to finish the job.

_Are you?_

* * *

Anger is a secondary emotion. It follows pain, disappoint, grief, shock, and sadness. Anger is a secondary emotion, but it always seems to come first.

To say Natasha was angry would be an understatement because she wasn't angry, she was tired, and sometimes to feel no pain, is worse than being struck by lightning because it means that your time is almost up.

She was mad that Steve got to feel happiness from simple tasks, she was mad that he had a purpose, and she was even more mad that he got a second chance to do better, while she only got a second chance to clean up her already messed up life. Natasha was furious with Steve Rogers, but she didn't hate him, she couldn't hate him because none of these things were his choice, they were just the person he was, and it's hard to hate a good man.

If anything, she felt like it was her job to help him adjust to the new world, which is why she kept setting him up on so many dates. None of them would work out, and she knew that going in, but somehow the possibility that he had a chance to make a future for himself made that okay. They were both just two people out of time, except his clock needed some repairs, and hers was already lost.

Natasha Romanoff wasn't angry with Steve, she was angry with herself, for never giving herself the option to find a new watch; the choice to make a path for herself, instead of following the worn out one off a cliff.

* * *

She and Steve had meant back up in Kiev after she had to take a little break from their hunt for the Winter Soldiers, or 'Bucky' whoever that may be. Natasha told him that she had to take care of some unfinished business in Moscow, but that was a lie. Honestly she just needed a break from the feeling that she knew would arise soon. The feeling of disappointment. They had been looking for Bucky for almost a month and a half, and every lead they got turned out to be another dead end, and Natasha feared that that term would become literal soon.

She owed Steve a lot, maybe not as much as she owed Clint, but somehow this debt was different. With Clint it was just between him and her, so it was only the two of them that could get hurt in the crosshairs, but with Steve there was Sam, and Maria hill and Fury, and even Bucky. He was counting on her connections to get his friend back, but the thing about connections is that they are often scarce and run out too quick.

Natasha felt herself suffocating, but this time she wasn't the only one being dragged down.

* * *

The turnout was bad. They had gotten a reading off of some security camera in some mall in central London, but it wasn't good enough. Steve was strong, but she was faster, and when she confronted the Winter Sold—Bucky, everything went to hell. Natasha was able to stab him in the right leg, but not before being shot in the abdomen. Her adrenaline was on a high, so at first all she felt was some extra pressure. It wasn't until he put his metal arm around her throat, and slammed her much smaller body against some nearby parked car, that the pain began to set in.

She tried to use her legs to hopefully kick him in attempt to getting him to release his grasp on her, but it was to no avail. She was losing too much blood too fast, and the lack of oxygen to her brain was making it hard to focus on anything let alone getting free.

The last thing Natasha remembered was looking into his cold and dark eyes, recognizing them as the same ones that taught her how to lie, how to survive, and how to live even when you're close to death. She saw a flash of a red, white, and blue shield fly by her, but then her vision went dark.

A few hours later when she woke up in some grimy hospital, with Steve tightly clenching her hand, she realized how it must feel to see a ghost.

Natasha moved her free hand across her stomach and felt the tightly wrapped gauze.

"He got away didn't he?" whispered Natasha.

Steve's response, or lack of it was the thing that answered her question.

"The doctor said you should make a full recovery," said Steve, changing the subject.

"How long was I out for?" she mumbled, surprised at how hoarse her voice sounded.

"Around eleven hours," he said, and she nodded slightly. "Look, if you want to stop searching that's fine," said Steve with an increasingly worried face, if that was even possible.

"Steve, I-I'm fine, just a little scratch," she said.

"Natasha you almost died! My best friend almost killed you, so this is on me," he said firmly.

"I'm not afraid to die Steve; I'm just a little bit scared of what comes next," she said the last part in a low whisper.

Steve sighed. "Get some rest," he said noticing her trying to hide her constant yawns. He noticed she was about to protest, and he added, "That's an order."

Natasha closed her eyes, and before she went under she mumbled, "You need sleep too Steve, you look like shit."

When Sam walked in a few hours later, he saw the soldier and spy sound asleep; Natasha still in the hospital bed, and Steve leaned back in the plastic chair that looked like it might break any moment. His hand was still tightly held around hers, and he was surprised that the normally stubborn redhead allowed that.

He put aside his curiosity, and walked back out of the room feeling like he was invading their privacy. He gently closed the door and realized that if he was on Steve's left, Steve was going to need someone on his right, and Natasha wasn't a bad pick at all.

* * *

**I started reading the Winter Soldier comics and am all about the past buckynat shiz, so expect that in some future fics, and comment whether you like the idea or not...**

**Thanks for reading and don't forget to review and request!**


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